by Mary Birk
The first question had come from Carolyn Caspary, and the rest of the interview went as they’d orchestrated. All in all, he was pleased with how things had gone. Without disclosing that they now had the specific targets identified, he’d focused on the plot to bomb more universities around Europe and the United Kingdom, and reminded people of the tragic toll of the Heidelberg University bombing. He wanted the immediacy of the danger to be clear as well as the vital importance that anyone who had information come forward. Then, without naming names, he’d discussed the discovery of certain funding sources and how the terrorists utilized the services of profiteers who laundered their money for a fee. With any luck, Von Zandt and his co-conspirators would feel the pressure and the attacks would be cancelled, or at least they might make a mistake which would expedite the efforts to locate and arrest those involved.
Reid entered the expensively decorated offices of the investment bank where his friend headed up the international investments division, and proceeded directly toward the back. He’d made no advance call for an appointment, but as long as Peter MacTavish was in, he wouldn’t need one. In addition to managing a good deal of the Reid family investments, Peter was one of Reid’s oldest and closest friends.
The slim, silver-haired woman that guarded MacTavish’s offices wore a severe black suit and a competent manner that assured visitors that she was not just a gatekeeper. Her face broke out into a genuine smile when Reid walked in. Standing up, she came out from behind her desk to greet him.
“Lord Reid, it’s good to see you. Is Mr. MacTavish expecting you?”
“I confess he’s not, Mrs. Henning, but can you fit me in?”
Angela Henning went back to her desk and checked an appointment calendar. “I think so. As soon as this call finishes up. I’ll just go slip a note to him that you’re here. Would you like some coffee or tea while you wait?”
“Coffee, thank you.” He motioned to where the coffee bar was set up. “I’ll get it myself if you’ll just let him know I’m here.”
“Of course.” She left, as silent as she was efficient.
Reid poured his coffee and went to the large window at one end of the reception area. There seemed to be hope that the sun would be coming out today. He thought of Anne working outside at Lynstrade Manor and hoped she would have good weather. It was getting easier to think about her again, but not easier to think about what to do with their situation. Their anniversary was Sunday, falling on Easter this year. Before she’d told him about being pregnant, he’d thought that was a good sign—the resurrection of their marriage on the day of Resurrection.
His thoughts were interrupted by Angela’s return.
“Lord Reid, Mr. MacTavish asked that you go in whenever you’re ready. He’ll be finished with his call in a moment.”
“Thank you. I’ll do that.” Reid passed back through the highly polished wood door into an office lined with more of the same.
Peter MacTavish motioned to Reid to sit down and held up five fingers, indicating the call would be ending soon. Reid sat down in a comfortable maroon leather chair and glanced around the room, letting his eyes rest for a moment on a photo of MacTavish’s wife and three children. He looked away, sharp envy piercing his chest.
When MacTavish ended the call, he stood up and came over to Reid, clapping his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Terrence, how are you?”
MacTavish’s naturally burly shape had thickened more around his middle as the years had passed. His round face, boyish in another age, was settling into the strong-jowled face of a man of consequence.
“Good, as ever. I trust your family is well?”
“Aye. Claudia wants me to make sure I pressure you to show up on Easter.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to make it, but please thank her for me. My sister, Darby, though, is in town. I think she’d like to come if there’s room.”
“I’ll have Claudia call her.”
“Thank you, she’ll appreciate that. She’s staying at the Blythswood.”
“I’ll tell Claudia. You’re certain you can’t make it?”
“I’m afraid not.” Not only did Reid not feel like going to a party, but he didn’t know if he could handle seeing his friend’s happy family. Especially the children. “Can I bend your ear on something, Peter?”
“Indeed.”
“I need some information on the institutions I think are being used to finance these terrorist attacks. The names are in here.” Reid handed his friend a list he’d gotten from Oscar. “It would help if there was someone I could trust inside the banks to find out exactly what they require to set up the accounts, what kind of security they employ, and the timing of releasing funds by request. My people are good on this but new dodges keep popping up and throwing us off. I have a feeling that we’re always one step behind the newest ruse.”
“It’s hard for us to keep up ourselves. Every time things tighten up in one arena, new schemes for eluding the authorities pop up in another. But you’re not looking for those who are evading the Inland Revenue, are you?”
“Not really, but I presume our blokes want to do that as well as evade anti-terrorist tracking protocols. It behooves them to stay off either radar screen as one informs the other.”
“Indeed.”
“So here’s our problem.” Reid explained in more detail the difficulties they were having, and MacTavish opened the envelope, looked at the list, and nodded, thinking.
“So you want me to find you a contact in each of these institutions?”
“I do, yes.”
“Let me make some calls.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“No problem.” MacTavish’s voice took on a calculatingly casual tone. “So my friend, I saw your press conference this morning. You planning to stand for office?”
Reid made a face. “Not in my darkest of thoughts.”
MacTavish laughed. “You’ve not taken leave of your senses, at least.”
“No, not yet. And I’ve certainly had my fill of the press’s interest in me.”
Suddenly somber, MacTavish nodded. “How is Anne? Claudia asked me if . . . well, if things were better between the two of you.”
Reid realized he’d inadvertently invited the inquiry, but he could no more share the news of Anne’s pregnancy with MacTavish than he could have with Stirling. Anne and he had to carry this cross alone. “You’ll forgive me if I’d rather not discuss it?”
“Aye, when do you ever?” His friend’s eyes were sympathetic. MacTavish was also clearly trying to assess whether he should say anything else.
To forestall any more questions, Reid got up, putting out his hand to shake his friend’s hand.
“Thanks for your time, Peter. I’ll wait to hear from you on what you find out, and please tell Claudia I’m sorry I can’t be there for her famous Easter buffet.”
MacTavish gave a low whistle between his teeth, shaking his head. “You’re a brave man. I wouldn’t get on Claudia’s bad side if I were you, but it’s your head on the block.”
Reid gave a wry smile. “So what else is new?”
FRIDAY, APRIL 10
Chapter 41
WALTER VON ZANDT put his hands in his pockets against the chill and continued his search around the gardens. She had to be out here somewhere.
He finally caught sight of her in a bed of bloomless perennials. His heartbeat quickened, and he smiled. She wore knee-high brown leather boots over brown pants, and a warm chocolate jacket. Her blonde hair—not the obvious dyed-straw color of Elisa’s, but a honeyed wheat—was pulled back with a brown leather headband. She was concentrating on the garden bed, biting her bottom lip. He watched as she looked back down at her plans, intently studying them, and his chest hurt with wanting her.
He had seen her in photographs and in news reports, of course, but when he’d first met her in person yesterday, he’d realized they did not even come close to doing her justice. She was not just phenomenally beautiful, but soft
, and she had a beguilingly natural charm that radiated with the brilliance of summer sunshine. No wonder Reid had been reluctant to end their marriage even after she’d gotten involved with another man.
She must have heard him approach because she turned and smiled just as he reached her.
“Mr. Von Zandt.”
“Lady Anne.”
She scrunched up her little nose in a gesture so endearing he could hardly stand it, then wiped a smudge of dirt away with the back of her hand. “Just Anne.”
“Anne. And you must call me Walter.” He smiled, then gestured to the plans. “What’s the verdict? Can you restore the gardens to what they were?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. Jonas is a genius. They’ll be spectacular.”
“Not just Jonas. He tells me you’re his secret weapon. But I can tell that myself.”
“Thank you.” She seemed slightly embarrassed. “Are you taking a tour of the gardens?”
Her modesty, so refreshing and rare, enchanted him. “Actually, I was looking for you.”
She looked puzzled. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Luncheon. Will you join me?”
She checked her watch. “Certainly. I can’t believe it’s noon already. Jonas is in the rose garden. I’ll just go by and collect him. Where should we meet you?”
“No need for that. My estate manager has taken Jonas to the house for luncheon. I had something different in mind for us.”
“Excuse me?” She looked wary, and he almost smiled. He liked that she wasn’t naïve.
“I’ve had a luncheon set up for us at the folly across the large pond. My wife will be joining us there. I thought you would both enjoy it there. We’ve heaters set up. Elisa would be interested in hearing your thoughts on the garden.”
Anne visibly relaxed. “That sounds lovely.”
“Good. Shall we proceed, then?” Von Zandt took her arm, feeling the warmth of her body through the wool of her jacket.
“This is a lovely place, Walter. You were fortunate to find a home with such an impressive example of Russell Page’s designs.”
“Yes.” He smiled at her, and resisted the impulse to bring her hand to his mouth to kiss it. Soon, though, that hand and this woman would be his. “I was not raised like this, you know.”
Her eyes slanted up at him, teasing. “Rich, you mean? Or as a garden lover?”
He laughed. “Neither one. My father died shortly after I was born. He came here from Germany after the war and met my mother. She was left with two young children to take care of, and we grew up quite poor. We lived in a miserable few rooms in a part of Glasgow I’m sure you’ve never seen. And we had no garden at all.”
She waved an arm to encompass the estate. “But now, you’re successful and own an impressive place like this.”
He glanced over at her to make sure she wasn’t mocking him, and was reassured by the frank interest in her face. “Yes. I have an estate in Germany as well. In the Black Forest.”
“Why Germany?”
He shrugged. “My father’s people were from a small town there. I went back to see my roots, I guess you could say. That’s where I met my wife.” It had seemed a good idea at the time, marrying a nineteen-year-old woman with no ambition other than to be a wife and mother, but now, decades later, decades during which he’d polished his own image, Elisa’s lack of education and sophistication galled him.
“That’s nice.”
He inclined his head slightly, enough to acknowledge Anne’s comment, but not enough to signal his agreement. Nice wasn’t the word he’d choose. Every time Elisa spoke, he had to grit his teeth to stop himself from saying something cutting. Too often, he wasn’t successful and then there were her tedious tears.
“So you bought the house there for her?”
He’d actually bought the house in the Black Forest to get his wife out of his way. Elisa would never fit in with the types of social circles to which his wealth and position would eventually gain him entrance. Social circles that Anne’s husband had been born into. Reid had had the foresight to marry a woman who could fit in anywhere, although Von Zandt imagined Anne’s affair with the artist had caused the Reid family considerable embarrassment.
“Elisa feels more at home in Germany.”
“But she’s here now.” Anne’s tone made the comment more of a question.
Not for long, he thought, but he said only, “She misses our sons and the grandchildren.”
Anne said, “Maybe that, combined with Lynstrade Manor, will entice her to stay in Scotland.”
“Maybe. And you? You’re planning to stay in Scotland now?”
“I’m not sure.” A small smile wobbled across Anne’s mouth.
Ah, so things weren’t going well with Reid. He’d suspected as much when she’d moved into the hotel. Good.
He beamed at her. “Well, I, for one, hope you stay.” At this stage in his life, Von Zandt thought, he deserved someone like Anne: educated, talented, and sexually vibrant. She would be able to give him more children—her figure combined a slim fitness with womanly curves, and was perfect for it. He let his gaze trail down her body, past her full breasts to her long, enticing legs.
Anne, oblivious to his thoughts, was surveying the various garden beds as they walked. “Thanks. I like it here a lot.”
They would marry, of course, so he needed to get rid of Elisa. And Moira. Anne Michaels was a woman who needed to be owned. And, unlike Elisa, he didn’t think Anne would tolerate mistresses. Besides, with Anne, he wouldn’t need anyone else.
“I’m looking forward to talking to your wife about the design plans. You two can have a lot of fun with this garden.”
“I’m looking forward to hearing your ideas.” He’d tolerate being with Elisa this one last time, but no more. He had done his duty by her, but she had not been a good choice for him. She’d given him Henry, a son he could be proud of, but she’d also given birth to Frederick, whose physical and mental impairments were an embarrassment. There was nothing like that in his family; that could only have come from Elisa’s side of the family.
“Have you seen other Russell Page gardens, or photos of them?” Anne asked.
“I confess I have not.”
“I have some books you and your wife might want to look over. I’m re-reading a book he wrote right now.”
“Re-reading?”
“Yes. It’s a classic, but so much more exciting to read it when you can also immerse yourself in one of his actual creations.”
“You enjoy your work.” He smiled at her, loving her enthusiasm.
“Immensely. Page said something about a garden having a kaleidoscope of shifting garden pictures or scenes. I forget the exact words, but that’s how it is to me. Everywhere I look, I see a new, perfect picture, or the potential for one.”
Von Zandt encouraged her to expound, but his mind was not on gardens. He was trying to decide Elisa’s fate.
Divorce or death?
Chapter 42
REID WALKED QUICKLY across the marble floor to the hotel reception desk and asked the desk clerk to ring Anne’s room. His stomach was churning and his chest burned. It had been an impulse to come here without having spoken to her. He didn’t know her room number, but at least he’d had the name of the hotel. His heart was pounding so fast that he forced himself to take deep breaths to slow it down.
The young man behind the desk, chubby and red-faced, nodded and rang the room. “I’m sorry, sir, there’s no answer.”
Reid looked at his watch. Just past nine. “Please try again. My wife may have slept through the telephone ringing. I didn’t mention to her that I’d be coming tonight.” He knew he shouldn’t have come, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself.
“Yes, sir.” The desk clerk punched the number in again and waited. After a time, he shook his head. “Sorry, sir, there’s no answer. Perhaps she’s out for dinner. She may be in the dining room—let me call and check for you.” He made a brief call
, then shook his head as he hung up. “No, I’m sorry, sir. She’s not in there.”
“All right, thank you. I’ll wait in the bar. Please leave word when she comes in that I’m here.” He knew it was unreasonable to expect that she would be sitting in her room waiting for him. She certainly needed to eat dinner, and he’d given her no warning that he was coming.
“Your name, sir?”
“You can just tell her that her husband is here. She only has one as far as I know.” There was an edge in his voice, a bitterness he momentarily could not keep back. How long would he be able to call himself her husband?
The clerk looked startled at his tone, so Reid softened his face into a smile. “I’m Lord Reid. I’ll be in the bar.” The title had the desired effect, calming the man, removing any worry that one of the hotel guests might be being bothered by an unwanted and unruly visitor.
Then he saw the man make the connection between his name and his beautiful wife. Apparently not just young women read the tabloids. “Yes, my lord. I’ll tell her.”
“I’ve forgotten her room number.”
“321, my lord.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you.” He felt an irrational bit of comfort in knowing her room number. He ordered a whiskey and settled in to wait for her. He knew he should eat something, but he had no appetite.
More whiskies than he could count later, he finally saw her. Reid could not remember the last time he’d drunk so much, but he’d been waiting for over three hours and had nothing to do but drink. The chair he’d taken gave him a view of the hotel’s lobby, and she was easy to spot. Her hair was caught up at the back of her head and cascaded down in a golden waterfall. She wore the black dress she’d worn the last time they’d gone out to dinner together, black high heels, and looked amazingly beautiful. Four men in business suits surrounded her, and she smiled and talked with them with that easy grace she had.
He recognized her boss, Jonas Reveille, a man of close to sixty years who looked like he’d spent thousands of hours outdoors, as indeed he had. Reid did not recognize either of the two men facing his way. A fourth man faced the other direction, his face hidden, his hand on Anne’s arm.
